T[rojan Horse] in the Park
Me and a couple of Scottish friends flew from London for our third year at this fantastic music festival. We'd been the previous two years and so I knew what to expect when we arrived. We would be camping with some of their other Scottish mates, a bunch of scruffy blokes who came from some tiny fishing village in the Outer Hebrides or something*.

Those boys were fucking nuts.

I'm glad we were camping *with* them, as they were happy ransacking the neighbouring tents and causing mayhem wherever they went. Operating like some kind of uncontrollable security system, they patrolled our tent area, dispensing justice to anyone who (in their opinion) deserved it. It kept the other Neds and Pikies off our back though, so we didn't complain.

Late one night, I was the last man sitting around chatting to these savages when the oldest one (he must have been in his forties) declared that there was something missing from our camp. He wanted a gazebo and so I was roped in to help them procure one. Between the four of us, we managed to steal a gazebo so large it could probably have engulfed the Pet Sounds tent. The fact that we had taken it from another large group of campers no more than ten metres away did not deter their enthusiasm as we staggered over guy ropes and dumped it down over most of our own tents. Watching the sincere denial to the enraged victims the following morning was worth the ticket price alone.

That wasn't their finest hour though. Oh no...

The aforementioned ringleader of this gang and his shortarse buddy really wanted to see Ocean Colour Scene. My friends and I knew this would be one of the most popular gigs of the weekend, so we made sure to be in the tent a couple of acts before they came on. The cavemen were not blessed with such foresight and by the time they arrived at the entrance, the tent was absolutely chock-full. The devious twats tried to get in, but site security had every entrance sealed; it was one in, one out. Bad luck boys, see you after the show...

With minutes to spare before the gig started, we spotted a strangely-familiar bottle collector donned in an official Hi-Vis jacket pushing a big blue wheelie bin through the crowd. He was chucking drink bottles and other crap into it and looked oddly pleased with his filthy work. The crowd strained and parted just enough to let the valiant binman struggle through. He reached the centre and to the surprise of everyone but us, the bin burst open in a shower of litter revealing our feral ringleader's minature mate who had been hiding inside. The Hi-Vis jacket and the bin were abandoned and the pair of them disappeared into the melee before tent security knew what was happening.

The loud cheer from the stunned crowd was soon masked by the opening notes of The Riverboat Song, and the tent erupted for the best gig of the festival.

*EDIT: Just remembered the name of the place... Banff.
( chart cat has an itch, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 7:36, 3 replies)

Now that is truly epic.
Awesome display of scottishness.
(mr-lizard Hell's teeth man!, Tue 9 Jun 2009, 8:35, closed)

Outer Hebrides?
Banff is 150 miles away from there.
( calgacus Non sum qualis eram bonae sub regno Cynarae, Wed 10 Jun 2009, 11:53, closed)

I originally qualified it with 'or something'
because I couldn't remember where they were from. I had to confirm it with a mate today, but in any case, Banff may as well be in the Outer Hebrides. It's a fucking outpost.

I'm not Scottish by the way. I just know a lot of Scots.
( chart cat has an itch, Wed 10 Jun 2009, 17:34, closed)